Promises of the Heart
by Light-Spectre
Summary: Promises between a young Elphaba and Glinda while attending Shiz. Were they forgotten through the years?


**Promises of the Heart**

The night had been quiet. With whispered declarations held tight within fluttering hearts; with moans of pleasure caught in stolen kisses, and questions of the future left unsaid by uncertainty. But that night ended differently than the others, when the fire had settled to little more than sporadic embers, glowing languidly, and the air contained only chill enough to cool them comfortably. Words were finally said; the silence broken with a slow but sure confidence from Glinda as her gaze roamed the sharp planes of Elphaba's back, her eyes dilated in the near darkness, drinking in the sight before her, highlighted by the silver moon slivering through their window.

She hadn't intended to break the silence. She had grown used to it. Not quite comforted, but used to it to know that at least for the time being, she could relax; that this, that she guiltily loved so, would not be taken from her. That she could sleep content. But she had spoken, her hand reaching out, gently trailing the slope of Elphaba's spine. She knew love was present, but would it last?

"Would you still love me once we leave this place?" Glinda murmured, but it was enough for her companion to stir, rousing from the slumber she had drifted into. She took a moment, thinking, then answered in her usual honesty, never one to lie, with a muffled, "Yes."

Glinda slowly nodded, her fingers trailing to the side of Elphaba's lower back; just gently, barely there, but it was enough to provoke a shiver from Elphaba. "Would you," Glinda continued quietly, "still love me if I lose my sense and grow shallow?"

Elphaba smiled at this, quietly to herself, her face nestled between Glinda's pillow and the plush sheets. "Yes."

"Would you still love me if I," Glinda's fingers stilled, and her gaze rose to the back of Elphaba's head, "worked for good? If I... became a public speaker, perhaps."

"Yes."

"Would you still love me once I grow old, and those little lines appear beside my eyes?"

"Yes."

Glinda's lips quirked into a secret smile as her hand rose upward toward Elphaba's shoulder blade; marvelling at the harshness of its edge, but also the softness of the skin that looked so dark in the minimal light. "But would you still love me if I one day married a man," Glinda whispered, "though my heart may still belong to you only?"

At this, Elphaba turned, disturbing the sheets and disturbing the surrounding silence. "I'll still love you," she said. She reached up a gentle hand to Glinda's bare shoulder, stroking softly, "But would _you_ still love me, if I followed the cause and not what people want of me?"

"Of course."

Elphaba smiled, her hand trailing lower, down to Glinda's hand braced against the mattress beside her own bare torso. "Would you still love me if I never learn to wear the dresses you do, with the pastel colours and the frills?"

"Yes, I'll still love you," Glinda smiled, but the hint of humour on Elphaba's shadowy face disappeared.

"Would you still love me if at times I might disappear? The work for the greater good might take me away from you. Our work may even clash."

Glinda took Elphaba's hand in her own, and kissed it, her eyes shining. "I'll still love you."

"Will..." Elphaba sighed, inexplicably feeling a guilty sadness mixed with this happiness, "will you still love me even when I grow old and paranoid?"

"Yes, Elphie," then Glinda leaned down, and kissed Elphaba again, but despite the many they had already shared that night, this one felt different. More free; more room to feel, no burden of insecurity. At least for Glinda. She finally felt safe, while Elphaba felt dangerously safe, worry already setting in more concretely that this would all be ripped away from her.

But the promises had been that of young hearts in love, caught in a whirlwind of their own passion. They hadn't thought on practical terms of how they could possibly stay together, when everything and everyone worked to pull them apart.

~~**~~

Years passed; decades even, during which they had hardly spoken. They went their separate ways, almost as they had predicted, but more alone than they had allowed themselves to realise. Glinda worked for Good, a public speaker as she had intended, and a sorceress; and Elphaba had been donned the Wicked Witch of the West, working also for good, but a different good than was deemed acceptable by the society Glinda had worked to maintain. They were opposites, and the few encounters since Shiz had been forced; the tension, the unsaid words, the judgement and they were gone again. No longer friends, and certainly not lovers.

But it was on another night that Elphaba wondered if perhaps those promises _had_ been left unbroken. In her moment of clarity from the consuming despair of losing her sister, the anger and the revenge she had sought, blinded by it. It had all lifted, and while she heard a scream, that she was vaguely aware of as her own, her mind was on Glinda and she wondered if there was still a part of her, some small part left untwisted and free of bitterness, that still loved Glinda. Despite the disagreeable path she had taken. It was still there, and Elphaba was filled with regret of what had gone to waste.

A girl a little way away, stood watching in horror, an emptied bucket that once contained water laying on its side. She stared with glistening eyes at where the Witch once stood, angry and brandishing the broom. The look in the Witch's eyes as she had died...

Dorothy began to sob uncontrollably.

Meanwhile over the hills of Kiamo Ko, a terrible wind blew, blustering across the Vinkus River and The Great Kells. Windows were hastily shut by those few still awake in their houses and cottages across Oz, noticing the abnormal change in weather, but thinking nothing of it. And the same with Lady Glinda who had a bad night, a night of shakes and regret and pain; she guessed it was the early signs of gout from her rich diet. But she sat up half the night and lit a candle in a window, for reasons she couldn't articulate. She heard the rattle of the wind against shaking glass panes of her bedroom and saw the flame flicker; and as she watched it struggle then expire in a whirl of smoke, she became aware of a feeling she had never before experienced. Loss. And thick trails of tears began to cascade down her cheeks. She didn't make a sound or clear them away, she only stared at the burnt wick with wide pain filled eyes.


End file.
